


Up & Down

by overmysole



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Human Relationships, Character Death, Demon Deals, Demon/Human Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Gay Sex, Humor, I'm just having fun, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It kinda have dark humor, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Nothing too bad but just be ready for some bad jokes, Ringo is a disaster, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, The Good Place vibes too, good omens vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overmysole/pseuds/overmysole
Summary: The whole Up Department is shaken when Paul, a lovely young man, suddenly commit suicide on his 20th birthday. Ringo, the angel in charge of the case, is convinced that this is an unfortunate mistake. He is unable to decide whether the boy deserves to go to Heaven, while the representative from Hell, a demon named John, also craves this new soul. To solve this small inconvenience, they decide to bend the rules and bring Paul back to life, joining the boy in his new incarnation in order to influence his choices... and why not have a little fun.After all, Paul is truly a lovely young man.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison & Paul McCartney, George Harrison & Ringo Starr, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 26
Kudos: 47





	1. A Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (smutty) McLennon fic ever and I'm kinda nervous about posting it, as it has... a plot. But I though about it a few days ago, submitted the idea to someone and it seemed to interest a few people so I'll try to write it good! Really hope you'll like it <3

It was a disaster.

Franckly, it couldn’t have been worse. The sky was clear that day – well, it wasn’t that all surprising for a day of June, but it has been raining so much in the Southern Hemisphere that Mag, the Up Department’s secretary, had to cancel her annual holidays in the Bahamas because new folders kept popping on her desk. But it was a lovely day in England.

So, not a cloud in sight when this young man opened his eyes. James Paul McCartney, his name was, but he was only going by 'Paul' for most people. He woke up to the birds singing behind his yellowish curtains, four minutes before his alarm-clock rang, and he took one of those long hot baths he loved. Then, he passed a comb in his dark hair still wazy from the humidity, made his way downstairs and drank a cup of coffee for breakfast.

Before leaving, he ruffled his little brother hair, like he did every morning despite not being kids anymore, and made it to his university just in time for his course. His very boring course, actually, but Paul managed to stay concentrated. He always had been a good student – not the best, but good. A sigh escaped the Angel lips as he crossed out 'poor family ties' and 'failed studies' on his paper form. Actually, this teacher was so dull he wouldn’t even had hold it against Paul if he had drifted into sleep. He didn’t, though.

At three, Paul started his shift at the coffee shop, smiled to his pretty colleague, complimented her new colored lipstick and her cheeks went as red as her hair. Paul really was lovely, the Angel thought as he crossed out 'big loser with women' on his form. A few minutes later, he also deleted the 'no sense of humor' mention when Paul joked with an old costumer.  
Then Paul took his car and, a smile on his pretty lips, he thought about the disaster his brother Mike probably did in their kitchen, trying to bake a surprise birthday cake for him, like he did every 18th of June since their old dad retired to live far away from the city. Paul wasn’t even sad of not going out with friends for his twentieth birthday. Staying home with his brother was a nice way to end this very ordinary day in a very ordinary life.

So ordinary. It really was a disaster, because it was so ordinary that even the Angel had to take a step back when Paul’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and the soft smile on his lips disappeared. Then, the car’s wheels turned sharply and it crashed against a pole. The windscreen exploded, and everything went black.

The office lights turned on as the Angel looked down on the form again, his pen stuck between his clenched teeth. And that was all. The life of this lovely young man ended like that. And it was a disaster, he thought once again, reading the yes/no questions printed on the paper.

 _Did the human suffered the loss of a loved one on that day, or was visibly mourning?_ No.

 _Was the human depressed, or lonely?_ No.

 _Did the human died without ever having sex (and being sad about it)?_ No, he did not.

 _Did the human saw his significant other in bed with their best friend/relative/boss (delete as appropriate), showed up late to work and crying like a baby, ended up being fired, and learned he had an incurrable brain illness that could possibly turn him into a zombie?_ This was oddly specific, but no.

No, this boy had no reasons to kill himself on his twentieth birthday, but he did. And, for the Up Department, it was a disaster, because they now had his soul, and didn’t know what to do with it.

"Hello."

The Angel jumped at the sound of this husky voice behing him, clumsily dropping the form on the floor before his big blue eyes turned to the young man standing right behind him, a cheeky smirk on his thin lips parted by a lighted cig.

"Oh my… John! What the hell – I mean…"

His broad shoulders shaked a bit under a quiet laugh, watching closely as the angel nervously looked the door of the office.

"Don’t sweat it, I’m allowed to be here."

He freed his right hand from his arms, crossed on his chest, to point at the wide black screen on the wall.

"Oh."

The Angel shrugged before looking at the cig hanging between the man’s lips.

"You shouldn’t smoke here, though."

His blue eyes turned once again on the screen and, suddenly looking very tired, faced John again.

"Oh, well. Give me one."

John raised an eyebrow, looking at him from head to shoes. He was so well dressed in his beautiful white suit and that stupid golden ring on top of his head – it was so shiny that it was reflected in his brown hair – that a single cigarette shattered the whole angelic picture. The Angel grunted.

"Oh come on, don’t judge me. I need it."

"Hard day, my dear Ringo?" John asked, handing him his own cig.

They both turned to the screen again when the images began to rewind like an old cassette. Somewhat comically, the car came off the pole and the bonnet unfolded like an accordion. Then the café terrace appeared, the laughing customer, the girl in lipstick blushing, the boring lecture at the university, Michael's ruffled hair, the comb in Paul's hair, the hot bath and the picture froze as his legs tucked under the blanket. Ringo and John shared a look, and the man leaned his hips against the table, passing one hand through his brown hair with red highlights. Ringo wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that this gesture only served to hide a mocking smile. It was true that Paul’s last day in the world of the living was kinda boring.

However, John looked up without a word and the screen started to run the film again, until Paul entered his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, his hair messy from his last night of sleep. He still had the trace of the pillow on his cheek, but John rose abruptly, his eyes glued to the screen. Looking at a guy's life through his own eyes was rarely of the slightest interest, and he was only there because each demon had a quota of souls to retrieve per month (after a hundred, they would unlock new tortures to try out, and it was a lot of fun). But that Paul, right there… damn, he was cute. Like, really cute. And looking at those lips, just a bit parted, already made him think of the things he could do to it. With those hazel doe eyes, he looked so clean and polite – it was even more fun to turn them into his toys when they were looking so… innocent.

John watched the screen closely has the film went on again and Paul started removing his clothes to get in his bath. Before he could see anything interesting, Ringo pushed him slighty on the chest, a blased look on his face, and turned off the screen.

"Uh… You know how it is." John said, passing his tongue on his lips while he tried to regain composure. "Suicide means his soul goes Down. It’s Dad’s law."

Ringo stared at him, as if to say that he had guessed very well what thoughts had just crossed his mind. He was used to argue about souls with demons, and even though he had come to strangely like John after all these years, he knew they could be a pain in the arse when they really craved a soul. And Paul – he didn't need to read John mind to guess it – had sparkled the demon's interest... and it wasn't a good thing at all.

"It’s ‘Father’, not ‘Dad’. And he made this law only 'cause you demons kept whining about us keeping all the interesting people Up!"

"You wouldn’t believe how tiresome it is to torture the same ol’gits for eternity. Nice that Dad gifted us so many new souls twenty years ago, but still…"

Ringo shooted him a warning look, but John only answered with an angelic smile. It was strange, combined with the loose black suit he was wearing, but at least his large and dark wings weren’t showing. Wings had been banished from the department, because they were so wide that they knocked all the porcelain vases from the shelves to the floor every time their owners turned around. Ringo never went to the Down department, but he imagined they just didn’t have porcelain vases.

"Paul’s going Up, though." Ringo said with a shrug.

"What? How that?"

"He never did anything wrong." The Angel pointed at the form. "I don’t know why he decided to end his life but…"

"Yeah, that’s y’all angels fault. It was your idea to give free will to humans a few centuries ago and now here they are, hugging poles with their car."

"Da… Father needed holidays, I guess…"

John stared at him in disbelief, but only shooked his head. Ringo could almost see the smoke comes out on his ears – and maybe there really was smoke here.

"Well, just bring Paul back to life for five minutes. I’m going to make him kill a cat so I can take his soul Down."

"A cat?"

"Yeah. I like cats. It would be a real shame if he killed one."

"Right, but you know I can’t do that, don’t you ?"

The lights of the office suddenly turned bright red, and the two men looked up until they turned white again. Ah, yes. Angels weren’t supposed to lie. Because, in the end, he could bring Paul back. Technically. He just wasn’t allowed to – Father never was happy about it, and the only exception he ever did was for some dude he really seemed to dislike after everything he made him go through.

"Look, John… I really can’t do that."

The lights went red again, and Ringo shouted while looking up.

"RIGHTICANBUTIDON’TWANTTOMAKEFATHERANGRY!"

"Come on, Ringo! It’ll stay between the two of us… I sweer."

"You mean 'swear', I guess? Demons can’t swear."

"Yeah, and you can’t say 'fuck', and I don’t make a fuss out of it. Now, come on: give me Paul, and…"

Before he could even end his sentence, a new pile of folders suddenly appeared on the table, going so up that it almost touched the ceiling. Their heads up, John et Ringo looked at each other, the first with a victorious smile on his face while the latter had a tired pout.

"Still raining in the Southern Hemisphere I see. Damn, look at all these souls waiting for you, angel. Just… give me Paul, so you can keep up with your good work before you end up being crushed by folders."

Ringo nervously looked toward the office’s door. He was able to hear Mag screaming on the phone that nobody warned those humans they would need to do a new Noah's ark before the cloud leak was repaired. Darn. He couldn't bring himself to send Paul Down. He didn't deserve it. But neither had he ever done anything particularly significant that would allow him to send him Up without anyone finding anything wrong with it – especially not John. He was stuck. By giving his soul to John, Ringo would be unable to find sleep again (well, he wasn’t ever sleeping, but the idea was there). He had some idea what John had in store for him.

And those damn files that were piling up…

He was definitly stuck.

In the end... Maybe he needed some time off, too.

"You know what?" Ringo turned his back to the door and took Paul’s folder in his hands. "Let’s do this."

John, a victorious smile lighting his whole face, reached out, ready to grab the folder. But instead of giving it to the demon, Ringo took a step back and he pressed his hand against the paper, and a white light came out of his palm. Immediately, John jumped to his side, his mouth so wide open that his jaw seemed to have come off his face.

"It’s… It will be our secret, right, John?"

"I sweer it will."

"… Good."

After all, Paul didn’t have any reason to die, so it wasn’t that bad, was it?


	2. An Unfortunate Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for the kind comments on the first chapter! I hope you will enjoy this one as well. This story is a lot of fun to write tbh <3

When Paul opened his eyes, he felt a sharp pain go through his skull. The sun, high in the cloudless sky, forced him to squint his eyes, dazzled by the light. It was hot, almost burning, and he felt his entire body hurting, stretched out all the way on a hard surface. His muscles seemed as tense as if he had just finished a long session of intensive sport. Very slowly, Paul turned his head to the right, grunting as he felt the warm and hard ground against his cheek, and opened his eyes again.

Nothing. The horizon was flat, so flat that it formed a perfectly straight line between sky and earth. At the sight of the yellowish ground, Paul thought he was in the middle of an arid desert, devoid of the slightest oasis or even a simple cactus. There was nothing, nothing at all, except this piece of road on which he was lying.

Paul awkwardly straightened himself up until he sat down, his arms dangling on his side. He was in the middle of a… cemented road going nowhere. Literally. Straight ahead of him, it was ending in pieces and when he looked behind him, it was the same a few steps further on.

Actually, the only thing that caught his eye, in this desesperatly flat desert, was a lamppost with peeling paint. The light bulb was sizzling and the cube of light it projected on the ground kept flickering. Crushed like an accordion against the pole, a car with an exploded windshield was waiting for him. Countless pieces of glass were strewn across the road, as well as a broken tyre.

What in the…

Paul jumped on his feet – or tried, as he needed to lean on his hands a few times before being able to stand upright – and rushed to the car. _His_ car. God, his head was hurting like hell…

A hand pressed against his forehead, searching for a bump that wasn’t there, he looked closely behind the steering wheel. Empty. He was just… there, completely alone in the middle of nowhere, with his car completly wrecked. Why? What happened? How did he…

"You messed up."

"I messed up."

Paul almost screamed when he suddenly heard these two human voices and quickly turned around, scrutinizing the surroundings for the smallest shadow. But there really was nothing here. Not a single soul.

"Is there anyone out there?"

His voice was so muffled that he was not sure if he actually managed to pronounce these words, so he just stood there, waiting to ear the voices again – at least, if he hadn't dreamt them.

"Dad's going to kill you. He's going to make you eat your halo, and not through your mouth."

"It was your idea!"

"My idea was to bring him back for five minutes, not to..."

Paul, frowning, grabbed the roof of the car to help himself walk, following the sound. They didn't speak loudly at all ;their words were almost whisperedwith a hint on angryness, like when he was a kid and his parents would argue in the evening, trying not to wake him and his brother. They didn’t know he was always listening in bed, unable to find sleep, staring at the ceiling. Right now, there wasn’t any ceiling to look at and, instead of the sweet face of his mum and the stern look of his dad, he finally laid eyes on the two strangest men he ever saw.

The first one, wearing a full-white costume, just a bit too large for him – he was rather tiny – stared at him with his mouth wide open, like he was standing in front of a ghost (that wasn’t actually that far from the truth). His droppy eyes, the bluest Paul had ever seen, gazed at him from head to toe over his big nose. On top of his head covered by a dark and very straight moptop, a shiny golden ring seemed to hang in the air, and a pair of wide white and light blue wings reaching down to his ankles were glued on his back.

The second one didn’t looked more ordinary. His hands were buried in his trousers’s pockets and his feet were covered by heavy leather boots. The black suit he was wearing, too, was much less fitted than his companion’s. The open jacket fell over his hips, revealing a dark shirt with an unbuttoned collar, and a grin appeared on his thin lips as his brown eyes turned to Paul. Like the other man, he also had a pair of wings on his back, just as big as the white ones, but the feathers were black, with only a hint of red reveled by the sun’s light.

What… the fuck.

"Seems like the princess woke up, after all."

The two creatures were staring at Paul’s mouth, opened as a perfect "o". Not a sound escaped his lips, but his big hazel eyes kept going from the angel to the demon without even taking the time to blink.

"Do you… Do you think I damaged the soul? He looks… quite numb."

"Let’s hope you didn’t. Destroying the world is enough damage, isn’t it?"

They really were talking like he wasn’t standing less than six feet away from them. The soul? Destroying the… what? Paul finally found the strengh to take a serious look around him, obviously trying to find a cameraman hidden somewhere behind the crushed car or the pole. Was he, somewhat, in the middle of a _very_ convicing cinema studio or… or had he been abducted by these two dangerous freaks? God, he couldn’t remember how he got there. He took his car, he was supposed to go home and eat the atrocious cake his brother did for his birthday. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

"W-Where am I…?"

When Paul weakly whispered these words, the two men shared a look and, when the young man turned his head back to them, he saw the one in black elbowing the second, pushing him awkwardly in front of Paul.

"Hi, you’re dead." He said, a bright smile on his lips.

Paul stared blankly at the blue eyes in front of him. What did he just…?

"I’m sorry, what?"

This time, he catched the little giggle that escaped to the second’s man self-control, but when Paul turned his eyes to him, he just bit his lip, a playful smirk on his face. He seemed to have a hell of a time.

" _I’m sorry._ " The man in black repeated with a high-piched voice. "He said he’s sorry!"

"John… shut up."

"He’s the one that should be sorry, love."

That man – John, apparently – pointed to the angel with an accusatory finger.

"Long story short, you crashed your car." He said, turning his finger to the vehicle, waiting for the two men to take a look at it before continuing. "Then, you died."

"I’m not dead."

"Well, not anymore."

"It’s not funny at all… At all. Where the hell am I?!"

The smirk on John’s lips vanished when Paul’s voice became full of angryness. For a moment, he just stared at his dark and cold eyes, looking so sharply into his that he felt a slight shiver runs down his neck. Damn. He knew Paul was only acting bold because he didn’t quite grasped the fact that he was, really, talking to a demon, but it was a bit… hot nonetheless. Quite dumb, of course, but a bit hot too. The boy truly had a pretty face, and he couldn’t wait to see his icy beauty shatter into pieces when he would realize the situation he was in.

"That’s the whole problem here, bunny. You’re nowhere."

Paul’s clenched teeth loosened a bit at these words, but he just turned to the angel, closely watching his facial features as he was trying to find the hint of a smile. He really was waiting the moment they would explode in laughter and tell all of this was just a big joke. A very, very big unfunny joke. Father was kinda good with big unfunny stuff, and demons had a wicked sense of humor anyway, but at this point, Ringo just wished he never ever laid his eyes on Paul’s folder. The joke was just that this dumb boy decided to kiss a pole and called it a day.

"Paul, I… I know it’s hard for you to believe us, but it’s true. You died right there. Well, not in a desert, obviously. In Liverpool. But– let’s say I tried to bring you back to life, messed up, and destroyed the whole city. Or, uh, the whole planet, actually."

"You know what, Ringo? I’m even more amazed everytime you say it!" John commented with a wicked laugh, slapping his own tighs, completely indifferent to the nasty look the angel gave him.

"But it’s nothing to bad. Happened a few times already with newbies." Ringo tried to smile, but ended up doing such a weird face that Paul seemed even more frightened he already was. "You see, Father created this very neat little thing called Free Will."

"Yeah, let’s just say he set the bin on fire and went off to sunbathe in another galaxy."

"Thanks, John. But it’s actually a good thing, because it means we can’t, uh, technically, end the world. Everytime you – humans, I mean – make a choice, it gives birth to a... new parallel reality."

Now, Paul was clearly looking at him as if a sunflower had suddenly grown on top of his head. He was very well aware that what he was trying to explain made as much sense to him as claiming that herds of pink elephants frequently flew over London. Of course he had submitted this idea to the Up Department, but it had been unanimously rejected. It was just an attempt to make life on Earth a little more cheerful after the long and joyful party the demons had held in the 1940s. He was an angel, after all.

But right now he had a human to look after. A human and all the stupid certainties he had about his world. It was one thing to make him acknowledge that he was really dead… and not so dead anymore. It was another thing to make him understand that he was facing indeed an angel and a demon. Parallel worlds could wait for the lunch break.

John suddenly invited himself between them, more or less discreetly pushing Ringo away to find himself face to face with Paul. So much so that their nose were almost touching, actually. _No personal space, then_ , the human thought, as he glanced nervously at the angel, who simply rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Don't pay attention to it, love, it's just cherub gibberish."

"I’m not a cherub." Ringo muttered.

"Aren’t you? You’re so small, it must be a common mistake."

Ringo coldly glanced at John when the latter shoots him a big smile over his shoulder. What the _hell_ was he doing? Trying to make Paul laugh? If that was it, it was a fail, but not as bad as Ringo first thought. His tense facial features relaxed slightly, and he even saw the shadow of a brief smile on his lips when John pulled a lit cigarette out of nowhere and handed it to him. Well. Perhaps John was more skilled than him to deal with humans' nervousness.

"As I was saying… No need to worry." Ringo said, watching Paul look quite suspiciously at the cig before droping it to their feet. "We’re just going to bring you back to… some Liverpool, England, in which someone just decided to pour milk in their tea just to spite their mean mum. Same ol’Liverpool. Just… don’t put milk in your tea."

"I like some milk in my tea." Paul said with a polite smile.

Well, not quite polite. Hell, was he _mocking_ him? How the hell could he joke in his situation?

"You nasty boy!" John commented with a false outraged gasp.

Paul turned his head toward the demon for a second before facing Ringo again… before actually turning around again with a frown, staring at the black cat now comfortably settled in John's arms. His free hand was slowly petting the animal’s fur, and he just shrugged with a smirk when Ringo laid his head against his hand in deep despair.

"John." He sighed.

"Oh come on. This whole New Liverpool thing, it’s crap. He could just kill it and this shitshow is over."

"D-Do what?" Paul gasped, looking as if he had just been punched in the face.

"John, no."

"I get it. No fun allowed."

With a grunt, he dropped the cat, who lazily walked to the car to lie on the roof.

"I… I don’t get it. How did you do that? The cig… I though it was just a dumb magic trick. But where does this damn cat come from? What is… Christ, don’t answer." Paul muttered when he saw John open his mouth, suddenly looking exhausted – nobody could hold that against him. "I just… Please, I just want to go home. Mike is…"

Ah, there he was, doing what humans do when they feel lost and lonely. Thinking about his family. Well, it was a good thing for Ringo. It meant Paul really was back to life – at least, he managed to do that properly.

"Oh god, is my brother okay?!" Paul suddenly shouted in fear.

"Y-yes ! Yes, of course he is…!"

When Paul looked over his dead car with deep panic rushing over his face, Ringo and John shrugged to each other. Should they tell him his brother, and everyone he knew, had turned into a pile of ashes in this reality? Probably not. Then, they both rushed to his side, each grabbing one of his arm.

"To Liverpool, then." John whispered near Paul’s ear.

Paul looked into his brown eyes and, before even realizing it, the cemented road turned into a red carpet under his feet, and yellowish wood panels appeared all around him. He barely had time to blink before a white fireplace emerged in front of them, as well as a small TV in the corner of the room and brown leather armchairs. The living room. _His_ living room. He was at home, in Liverpool, in this street where he had always lived. He had argued so hard with his father to convince him to let him and his brother stay here after his retirement, but he had never been so happy to see this little room again. And little it was. Almost tinier than he remembered it, but he just came home from an infinite desert so it was probably normal.

"There we are. Liverpool, United Kingdom, 18th June of 1962. I didn’t mess up this time."

Paul slid his fingertips over the top of the fireplace covered with picture frames. He was so happy to be back that he almost wanted to hug his house. Ah, that good old normality. Well, at least, if he ignored the two creepy men slumped into the armchairs like potato bags, resting their wide wings on the armrests. Couldn’t they just… disappear now? Whatever they were, he certainly didn’t want them under _his_ roof.

"John, stop making cats." Ringo grunted when a white-furred kitten leapt to the demon's knees and meowed loudly.

"I didn’t. It’s Paul’s."

Paul frowned, his hand still resting on the fireplace shelf. Now, that was… weird.

"I… I don’t have a cat."

"You do."

"I’m kinda sure I don’t."

That was very, very weird. That cat, yes, but not only. Now that he had had time to drown in the contemplation of his living room, there were several things that seemed... surprising to him. For example, those awful flowery fabrics that covered the leather of the seats. He would never have bought anything so ugly.

And then there was the smell of jasmine floating in the air. Jasmine? Really?

"And I’m kinda sure I don’t have three blonde daughters either." Paul said in a serious tone, turning one of the frames from the shelf towards them so that they could see the picture of the children.

"Oh my…"

Ringo jumped from his seat, so quickly that his left wing knocked a flowerpot off the table. Luckily, he managed to catch it just in time, but because of his sudden movement, his right one sent a vase kiss the ground, and John just lifted his feet from the carpet to not get wet from spilled water. This was exactly why the wings had been banned from the Up Department.

"Who the hell keep so much flowers inside? Paul, you got terrible taste."

"It’s not my taste! It’s… really not. Hey! Why is my home so tasteless?" He shouted at Ringo as the angel awkwardly picked up the newspaper left on the table.

His face decomposed. In fact, his features collapsed so quickly that even John sat up, visibly worried.

"Because I messed up."

John stood up, trying to read over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"It’s not 1962. We’re in June 1968."

***

"Fuck me."

John didn't take his eyes off the end of the street when these words passed Paul's lips for the 26th time. The first three, he had answered "with pleasure", seeking the attention of the boy who didn't even seem to hear him, his eyes glued to the front of his house. Well, not really _his_ house. According to the name on the mailbox, the Jones family had been living there for many happy days. It was nothing but a joke. A _big_ joke. They could already consider themselves lucky to have appeared in the middle of the living room in the afternoon. Things would have been a little more complicated if an angel, a demon and a complete stranger had appeared while they were drinking their tea and munching on biscuits.

So now Paul was sitting on the kerb with his arms wrapped around his legs. Ringo had only mumbled to John to make sure he didn't run away before he went off, but the demon doubted that Paul could do it even if he wanted to. He looked so stunned that he seemed to have turned into a limp marshmallow... merely repeating "fuck me".

At the end of the street, Ringo stood in front of a red brick wall and waved his arms in the air. From where he was standing, John could see the image of the United Kingdom projected in a bluish glow and thousands of little notes pointing to different parts of the country. Oh, so he was looking at the choices and events that had led to this shitty situation. And, judging by the two hands he slapped against his face, things didn't look good.

When he finally decided to come back to them, a big forced smile uncovered his teeth, but his legs seemed ready to crumble under his weight.

"How is it then?" John asked, as Paul still sadly gazed at his old house.

"Good. Very good. Everything’s… just great. Can I talk to you for a minute? Nothing’s bad of course."

John glanced briefly at the marshmallow man before taking a few steps away with the angel. It wasn't that he felt sorry for him (he was a demon, remember). In fact, he might even have found this situation hilarious if his quota of souls to bring back Down was not seriously at risk. This whole mess could have been over long ago if Ringo had just let him do what he wanted, and now they were both here on Earth, having probably done the biggest crap in the upper world for quite some time.

"I am… a big load of swift." Ringo said, immediatly losing his smile.

"Of what ?"

"You know what I mean. I don’t know how I did that, but in this reality… James Paul McCartney has been dead for six years. His brother couldn’t bare staying in this house after his death so he sold it and left the city."

John stared bitterly at him. Now he could say ‘farewell’ to his quota. Ringo really was this galaxy’s biggest mistake.

"I’m going to kill you. And, as you can’t die, I’m going to kill you over and over and…"

Suddenly, his gaze softened, and he turned his attention briefly towards Paul. Oh dear. Could he…?

"Yeah, I got the idea." Ringo sighed.

"No, wait. I actually _have_ an idea."

Ringo looked at him with wide eyes, obviously hoping for a _miracle_ from John.

"The real issue here is not whether Paul is dead or alive, it's that we don't know what to do with his soul. His first life was so boring that he doesn't even deserve to go Up or Down. But this time it’ll be different."

Confronted to the angel's puzzled look, John rolled his eyes and pointed his finger at his own face, a grin on his lips. After a few interminable seconds, Ringo suddenly straightened his back and shook his head so hard that his hair flew all around his face.

"No! It wouldn’t be fair to just let you… push him to be bad."

"It will be fair. You just have to do your… angelic thing. We won’t force him to nothing. But there’re hardly any humans walking around with an angel and a demon, right? He's in this shit because of you."

"Because of _us_."

"Besides, I doubt we'll both be welcomed with open arms in our Departments if this story ever gets know."

"So, are you suggesting that we... that we live on Earth? With… him?"

John smiled at the slight doubt taking over Ringo’s big blue eyes.

"Guardian angel. Isn't that a great promotion, office boy?"

They both turned their heads towards Paul, still slumped on the pavement like an abandoned puppy. It was a good thing that Paul was so damn cute with his big doe eyes. Not only from the point of view of a wicked mind, but also because it was much easier to convince an angel when his victim looked so innocent and lost. He had even forgotten that it is rather unwise to make a pact with a demon.

Besides, even angels were subject to temptation. It was clear that Ringo had never intended to spend a millennium in an office. If he saved the soul of a guy stupid enough to commit suicide for no reason, his mild destruction of the world would no doubt be forgiven. Especially so if he defeated a demon. And in the end he could really become a guardian.

John and Ringo smiled as they shook hands.


	3. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

"So… You two really are…"

Leaning against the fence, Paul was ripping small pieces of bread from his sandwich and throwing them to the ducks that were crowding at the water's surface, waving their wings, throwing the greenish water of the lake around them. Next to him, John had also started throwing something at them, but by paying a little more attention, Paul saw that it was not bread, but small stones that he had picked up in the park. Luckily, each time one of the rocks was about to hit one of the ducks, it suddenly deviated from its direction and disappeared into the water by making a few bounces. Ringo, standing to the right of Paul, glanced annoyingly at John, who completely ignored it.

"… A demon and an angel." Paul finally said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Can anyone but me see you?"

"Everyone can see us. Most people just don't pay attention to us, that's all," Ringo said. "We look... very human, I think."

His hand slapped his own shoulder, as if to point out to Paul that his wings had disappeared. His golden ring, too, by the way. It's true that they looked quite human now. They had also changed their outfit, opting for something a little more casual. John had settled for a black turtleneck and leather trousers, but Ringo had put on a bright yellow top, saying it was exactly what he needed to look like a 68’ human. He had suggested growing a moustache as well, but the other two had rejected his idea outright.

"But you can do magic, can't you?"

"Magic? What do you take us for? He's doing miracles. Or something like that." John replied with a shrug.

"What about you?"

This time, John stopped throwing stones and glanced at him with a mischievous smile, which made him instantly regret his question. He hadn't noticed it until now, but every time he talked to John, his brown eyes would break away from his own and stick to his lips as if he was studying every word that came out of them.

"I do miracles too. Although of a slightly different kind."

"For the love of Dad…" Ringo grunted. "Right. Let’s get on with it. Paul, you need to… do something good. Something that’ll save you from going… you know," he said, pointing at the ground with his thumb.

"Like what?"

"I don’t know. Winning a Nobel Prize would be great."

Over Paul’s shoulder, Ringo catched John rolling his eyes in exasperation. Paul just looked at him with an arqued eyebrow, visibly struggling to find his words.

"Um... How about finding a place to sleep tonight first? I'm homeless, in case you've forgotten that little detail. And broke, too."

He punctuated his sentence by gracefully raising his head, and turned on his heels as he quickly walked towards the park's exit.

"Where are you going?" Ringo asked as he jogged behind him, struggling to keep pace with Paul's long legs.

"To the coffee shop I work at. I mean, worked. The owner liked me. His wife too, by the way."

John and Ringo, following him, glanced at each other. It would be a good thing for Paul to have someone he could count on. Fucking his boss's wife, on the other hand, was very less good.

***

"Uh, Paul, I’m not sure it’s a good idea."

Paul glanced at Ringo over his shoulder, already pushing the shop’s door.

"Of course it is. I don’t wanna sleep outside tonight."

"Yeah but… In this world, you’re d…"

Paul disappeared inside, not listening a word of what Ringo was saying. The angel, the mouth still open, grunted with an exasperated arm movement. If Paul didn't deign to listen to his indications or warnings, things were going to be a little more complicated than expected. Why on earth did he have to be the guardian of the most stubborn boy in the world?

John, as he walked by, gave him a little pat on the shoulder, a smirk on his lips.

"Good job, angel." he whispered before entering the coffee shop.

Inside, Paul had already made his way between the tables and the customers to the counter, raising one hand in the air to catch the attention of the boss who was struggling to serve everyone. John, before joining him, grabbed the cake in which a man was about to sink his teeth and began to devour it without the slightest consideration for his loud protests. When the man got up from his seat, ready to catch up with John and fight, Ringo tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the cake that had just miraculously fallen from the sky, straight onto his plate. As Ringo also reached the counter, the man scratched his head, looking stupidly at his food and wondering what had just happened.

"Hello, what can I…" the boss said, finally turning to Paul.

His fingers suddenly dropped the cup of coffee he was holding, and it broke on the tile floor under the perplexed gaze of the few customers around them. All the colours disappeared from his face and his light blue eyes had sunk into Paul's, so intensely that he heard himself utter a silly giggle to hide his discomfort.

"P-Paul? Is that… Is that really you?"

"Of course it’s m…"

Realization fell on his head like a stone. Ah, yes. Six years had passed. He was still having a bit of trouble getting used to the idea. Paul glanced nervously at Ringo, but he just awkwardly stared at the menu hanging on the wall as if it were a magnificent painting.

"I thought– well, everyone thought you were… I can’t believe it."

Mr. Martin was looking at him like he was standing in front of a ghost. Well, he was. This time, Paul tried seeking John’s help, but he was only watching the scene with a wide grin, arms crossed on his chest. He was having way to much fun to intervene.

"Yeah, I– I know. The… rumors about me being dead were a bit exaggerated."

"I went to your funeral, Paul. I did! Your brother and your father were here too."

"Alright, enough."

Paul jumped when he felt John’s hands fall on his shoulders and his chest pressed against his back. When he spoke again, his brown eyes were sharply staring into Mr. Martin's, wide opens from seeing this complete stranger interrumpt them.

"You never went to Paul's funeral." John said calmly, holding Paul's body firmly against his own.

"I'm pretty sure I did. It was... six years ago."

"It wasn't Paul's funeral, it was your cousin Henry's."

"Was it?"

"His wife and daughter were there too. You should send them flowers, it's his death anniversary."

John finally let go of Paul’s shoulders, giving the boy a brief glance as he watched him with eyes so big that he looked like an owl. Martin, on the other hand, was gazing at the void and murmured something about sending flowers to his family before suddenly turning his head back to Paul. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Ringo glaring at him, but he preferred to ignore it.

"A-Actually, I just came back from a very, very long trip," Paul said, and it wasn’t even a lie. "My brother left the town and I… kind of forgot to book an hotel room for tonight."

"What about them?"

Martin glanced at John and Ringo, who both began waving their hands as a greeting. Apparently, he didn’t even remember John talking to him.

"Yeah… They’re staying with me." Paul simply shrugged.

"Do you know them well?"

"You could say that." Paul said, thinking "no, you could not".

Martin finally took his eyes off them and stared at Paul, his lips pinched. It seemed obvious that he had no intention of letting Paul stay out all night, but also that he had absolutely no intention of keeping the three of them at home.

"I trust you."

Paul smiled confidently, but it vanished as soon as Mr. Martin pointed to one of the couches of his shop.

"You can sleep there if you want. I'll leave the keys."

"W-What?"

"That's all I can offer you."

With that, Martin returned to his work, grabbing a broom to pick up his broken cup, leaving Paul completely defeated. Before he left to sit on the couch, he had just enough time to see Martin hastily write on a piece of paper "Send flowers to Henry's widow".

***

"You should have asked him to get your job back." Ringo said as he straightened up a frame on the wall.

Paul yawned, lying all the way down on the couch with his hands behind his head. He didn't have a pillow, and he didn't dare imagine the stiff neck he would have when he woke up. He had expected better from Mr. Martin. After all, hadn't he always been a model employee?

"No." John said. "You used to offer coffee to pretty girls and never paid for it out of your own pocket. Not exactly a model employee."

Paul looked up sharply, his eyes wide opens.

"Can you read my mind?"

"No, your frustration's been on your face for hours."

"What about the birds then?"

"Ringo watched your whole life when you died. He told me."

Ringo simply nodded, but he seemed surprised to see Paul staring at him in slight panic.

"My _whole_ life?"

"Yeah. Even the awkward moments. Especially the awkward moments. Don’t worry though. Everyone was horny as a teen. Well– most humans."

"Oh my god…" Paul whispered, slamming his head on the couch.

"Oh no, this has nothing to do with him, trust me." John grinned.

"You should sleep now. You have a lot of work tomorrow." Ringo said with a sigh.

Paul, with a pouty look on his face, went back to bed more or less properly – his legs were sticking out of the couch. It was the beginning of a long and uncomfortable night, but Ringo was right. He had a lot to do tomorrow. Finding a job, of course, but certainly not in this shop. He had never liked it. But it wasn't like he could live without making money. Or could he? Angels and demons must have been able to make a few thousand pounds appear, it wasn't that much. Just a small debt to help him to...

Paul opened one eye, disturbed by an unpleasant sensation. Right in front of him, Ringo was standing there, his arms hanging down along his waist and his eyes glued to him.

"… Are you going to stand there all night looking at me like that?"

Ringo frowned, genuinely surprised that Paul didn't appreciate his presence.

"… What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't care, just go away! That’s creepy!"

"Angels don't sleep, I don't know what t…"

A big "bang" suddenly echoed through the coffee, and Ringo collapsed violently to the ground, discovering John behind him, armed with the pan that Mr. Martin used for pancakes. Paul, shocked, had leapt straight up onto the couch, curled up, his eyes glued to the inert body of the angel lying face down at his feet.

"Don't worry. What doesn't live cannot die." John said with a smile, blowing on the edge of the pan like it was the barrel of a smoking gun. "He's going to wake up in a few minutes. You'd better fall asleep before he starts yelling at me."

Much to his surprise, Paul giggled slightly, but immediately pressed his fingertips against his lips as if he was taken aback by his own reaction. He pretended to cough a little and laid down again, trying as best as he could to avoid thinking about Ringo's body lying on the ground.

He didn't know why, but John seemed to be aware that no one liked to be watched sleeping – especially not by someone he had known for a day. He went back to sit on a chair a few steps away from the couch, and he putted his feet on the table without ever looking up at Paul.

In fact, it was Paul who opened an eye again. It would have been much wiser to sleep, of course, and he was absolutely exhausted after that day spent in… coming back from the dead, but not really, and actually he did, but then again he didn't. In the end he wasn't sure he understood the whole story. And yet, he was still curious enough not to be able to get to sleep.

"John?"

The demon just hummed, but he still looked up at Paul as he stood up on one elbow, inquisitively eyeing the book that was resting on John's thighs.

"What is it?" Paul wondered, and John looked down at it for a few seconds before answering.

" _Alice in Wonderland_. I… found it."

"Found." Paul repeated with a knowing smile, making John grin.

"Found. It might be weird, but… It reminds me of Down. The whole never-ending nightmare. It’s incredible that Mr. Carroll managed to write it before _actually_ coming Down."

Paul opened his mouth, but closed it without a word, and just watched John read. It was probably as disturbing as being observed sleeping, as he finally raised his head towards Paul, surprising his gaze on him. John got up with a sigh, walked across the room and stepped over Ringo's body, then sat on the floor, his back against the edge of the couch. He rested his foot against his knee, twisting his leg into an uncomfortable position, and leaned his open book against his thighs. Paul, who merely thought he had somehow managed to turn his back on him, felt a smile tickle his lips when he understood John's true intention. In this position, Paul could read over his shoulder.

So he did. Or tried. He couldn't stop his eyes from leaving the printed words and lingering on John's fingers, which were thoughtfully scratching the paper. That was… nice. Strangely, he was feeling at peace. He didn’t know why, but it was the first time in… years, probably. John's body radiated so much heat that he felt like he was sleeping in front of a fire. He had already felt it when he had grabbed his shoulders and pressed his chest against his back. It was such a contrast to his pale skin and the relaxed look he had, focused on his reading. Hard to believe he was there to take him to Hell.

"You don’t look so mean."

Paul bit his lip. He hadn't really planned to say that out loud. John looked up from his book but, instead of being angry or annoyed with Paul, he just stared at him, watching his long eyelashes almost covering his hazel eyes. He already seemed half-asleep, leaning his head on the couch, his dark hair spreaded on his face and slowly breathing through his parted lips.

"Don’t you know the story of Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Did you eat my grandma?" Paul mumbled.

"Wha… Just sleep, dumbass."

Paul smiled weakly, closing his eyes. An angel and a demon, then. They didn't really look like he thought they would. Ringo was... well, he was Ringo. John, on the other hand? He didn't really know what he was expecting. Red horns, big glowing yellow eyes, skin covered with scales, goat's feet. But John looked like a very ordinary young man, maybe two or three years older than him. A quite handsome rugged-looking young man, with probably the sweetest gaze he ever met, in spite of all his teasing grins and all the things he could say. And his auburn hair was certainly not made of goat hairs…

"Goat." Paul whispered as he drifted into sleep while a confused John watched over him.

***

"You’re such a jerk."

John couldn’t help but laugh at that, fluttering his eyelashes as he looked at Ringo's pouty face. They had been walking the streets of the city for hours, as Paul ran from shop to shop trying to get hired anywhere. Until then, the closest he had ever been to getting a job was coming from a nice little granny, who seemed willing to keep this pretty boy tied to her bed. When Paul had declined as politely as he could and came out with a deep sigh of despair, he saw John dare to flash his best smile at the old lady with a pair of fingerguns.

"Of course I’m a jerk, angel. It’s my fucking job. Thank you very much." John gasped, one hand against his heart, as if genuinely seized with emotion. "How’s your head, darling?"

"That’s exactly what I’m talking about and you know it!" Ringo mumbled, touching the back of his head, searching for a bump. Of course, he didn’t have any.

"Yeah. I also know that your little boy definitely has a problem with cars."

"What are you…"

Ringo and John both turned around in unison towards Paul, who was running across the road, without even taking the time to look around. In fact, they barely had time to lay their eyes on his back before they heard a shrill scream from his throat as a small white car entered his sight, racing at full speed into him. Ringo almost jumped in the air and, without having time to think about his move, suddenly raised his hand to the car's wheels, which came to a violent stop just a step away from Paul's legs. The halt was so abrupt that the car almost lifted and the driver's head slammed against the windscreen, while Paul, paralysed by fear, had stupidly fallen backwards, his eyes glued to the bonnet and his thin black eyebrows furrowed as if the car had just insulted him.

"Damn. We're not done bringing this guy back to life." John smiled while Ringo ran to Paul and helped him get back on his feet, as worried as frightened. It was almost a miracle, actually, that Paul had survived for twenty years.

"Hey." John said, knocking on the car window, bending his back to try to look inside.

Getting no reaction from the driver, he pulled on the door which unlocked by itself and placed his hand in front of the young man's nose. As soon as he felt his breath against his skin, John put his fingers on his shoulder and shook him gently. He had simply been knocked unconscious by the shock. If he had been the one to intervene, things would probably have gone much nastier.

"Ugh, fuck..." the young man grunted, slowly opening his dark brown eyes as John, holding his arm, worked him out of his car.

"Is he okay?" Ringo asked to John, who only nodded, curiously looking at Paul's face.

Paul, gobsmacked, freed himself from Ringo's hold on him and, in three big steps, suddenly approached John and the boy.

"George?!"


End file.
